


roses out in your country house

by caesarions



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Awkward Conversations, Bonding, Father-Son Relationship, Italy, M/M, Nostalgia, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-07-24 21:58:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16183991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caesarions/pseuds/caesarions
Summary: ♫ You said to meet me up there tomorrow / but tomorrow never came. ♫Many cantankerous Roman authors, such as Sextus Propertius and Seneca the Younger, had much to say about the resort town of Baiae. To their crowd, Baiae was the center of Roman sin and vanity. Baiae was where girls went to play at being girls, old women as girls, and some men as girls.But their crowd is long dead, and this man is here to reclaim an aspect of his past with some modern help.Partial sequel to 'jiāchǒu bùkě wàiyáng', but it can be read alone.





	roses out in your country house

**Author's Note:**

> TITLE: yes, it IS from a lana del rey song. feel free to come to my house and kill me for being romantic on main. the song is 'tomorrow never came'
> 
> NAMES:
> 
> china - wang min (clever king)
> 
> rome - lucius marius priscus romulus (shining; of mars or masculine; ancient; the mythical founder, 'mr. rome')
> 
> s. italy - andrea (manly)

**2005, Baiae, Campania**

* * *

 “Did your people destroy the city on purpose?” Min asked as he looked upon the ruins of Baiae. As a coastal city, the waves beat down like an oppressive migraine.

“Not us,” Andrea replied defensively, tensing his shoulders, afraid of when Min would spring again. Power lurked beneath his ancient, slender bones. “First came the Germans, then the Muslims, and finally the disease.” Malaria. If there was one thing the youth could change about his land, it was the mosquitoes.

It was not such an odd question as Andrea thought. Perhaps self-destruction was unknown in Europe, though Min doubted it—self-destruction was the way of all nations, no matter how hard they tried to blame outside influences. In the last century alone, Min had reinvented himself three times. He had cut his hair for the revolutionaries, cut his heart out for the communists, and was currently in the process of cutting his soul up to sell on the capitalist market.

“Oh, and volcanic activity has sunk the lower half.”

Min furrowed his brows. “That was kind of an important detail to omit.”

“You didn’t tell me why you wanted to visit Baiae at all,” Andrea countered, throwing out his arms. “There’s nothing here anymore.”

“There still is!” Min insisted shrilly, recoiling as if he had been burnt. Only his eyes were visible over his raised arm; in the sun, they took on the brown of old Grecian urns.

If he did not have the fear of God in him, Andrea would have rolled his eyes. Instead, he placated, “We came together initially to talk about the military. What could be more important than that?”

“Oh, most everything,” Min quipped simply. As his head turned, his high ponytail slapped Andrea in the face. Min threw off his shoes and bounded down the limestone hill. Despite facing destruction at every turn, the sea below still glittered invitingly, as cool and refreshing as a woman.

Or whatever your vice was.

The other was not so eager to descend into the depths of depravity. Grumbling, Andrea rolled up his silk pants and stepped out of his loafers. A stroll in the Neapolitan countryside was never a bad idea, but Andrea was not dressed for the occasion. He had been under the assumption that they would be talking business all day. But Min had other plans, and the Chinese’s word was law.

Luckily, the hillsides knew Andrea and his callused feet, no matter his dress. He caught up to Min in a few heroic leaps and grabbed the other’s arm out of pure habit. As much the southern hillsides cherished their representative, they loathed any outsider in equal fervor.

“I am no geriatric!” Min ripped his arm away. Even as he said it, soft white stone crumbled away beneath his next step. Andrea didn’t think someone could stumble gracefully, but Min did.

“I’m simply respecting my elders.” He stepped away from Min, however. The fire in Min’s heart was evident by the amount of dust he kicked up.

Even if military cooperation was always a bad idea, it was still something. A known purpose. There was no telling if Min would reveal his true purpose for asking Andrea to take him to the Bay of Naples. Yes, Andrea’s homeland was the prettiest a tourist could get—no offense to his Northern brother.

But Min was no tourist.

He had been here even before Andrea was born, back when the land was not Andrea’s.

Rural nothingness surrounded the odd pair on their descent. The clear, China-blue sky mocked their labor openly. Ruins sprouted periodically, proud yet broken, exactly like Andrea remembered his father. Perhaps they would venture closer. Perhaps they wouldn’t. Andrea followed Min in a trance, tracing the swing of his ponytail like the pendulum of time.

If solitude is what Min wanted, Andrea would have been left in the car. Min was infamous for his demeanor at meetings. Despite the Chinese ruling the world, sometimes, Min said nothing at all. Was his silence born from ignorance or terrible understanding? Had he been left behind, or was he far ahead of such squabbling youths? How much of a nation’s personality was a mask, and how much did that grow over time?

Anyone could speculate, even Andrea who held the advantage of remembering Min from his youth, but only Min could know.

The Italian felt a sudden and shameful lurch. Deep in his thoughts, Andrea missed the final, rocky ledge that connected them to the beach. He tumbled knees-first into the sand while releasing Italian expletives.

Blocking the sun, a porcelain hand was shoved in his face. The other morphed his voice scarily well. It sounded like Andrea, and someone else familiar. “I’m simply respecting my elders.”

Andrea gave a secret grin. He had answered his questions.

Min waited nearby as Andrea shook the sand from his pants. Since Min left everyone behind at meetings, Andrea raised his eyebrows. Thankfully, the sun gods had scorched away the morning dew, so Andrea could salvage the silk. If wearing the material next to its creator was conscious or unconscious, Andrea knew not.

He had expected them to continue at a brisk pace, another habit of Min’s that Andrea had observed at meetings. It looked as if he was always running away from something. But here, Min cemented himself into the sand and trudged on.

“You don’t look that old,” Andrea mumbled over the natural cacophony of a beach.

The quip would have been lost in the waves if not for Min’s sharp ears. “I sure hope not!”

Flipping his ponytail to the other side revealed more of Min’s face to Andrea. The Italian wasn’t lying; the sun cupped Min’s gentle contours and highlighted his softly glazed skin instead of any wrinkles. His father must have gazed upon the very same features, unless Min looked quite different those 2,000 years past.

Andrea attempted to understand the scope of his father’s passion for this man. What could two people from the opposite ends of the Earth possibly have in common?

 _Everything_ , a familiar voice whispered.

“Though, that is the trick,” Min continued, seemingly impervious to Andrea staring. He held an aura that attracted staring. “They never look old before they die.”

Silenced reigned.

Instead, Andrea fished a cigarette out of his pocket and offered it to Min. The other man leaned down and took the butt in his mouth, then tapped his foot impatiently.

Min spoke out of the corner of his mouth as Andrea struggled with the lighter. He looked Min straight in the face for the first time, and Andrea feared just what he would find. “You will be speaking with my doctor for bad behavior. She wants me to stop smoking.”

“Yeah, well, so does my government,” Andrea huffed. He lit his own in protest. “They passed some legislation just this year. But my people have already stopped enforcing it.”

“Good boy,” Min said proudly, pinching Andrea’s cheek.

After a heartbeat, both men cleared their throats and turned away from each other.

Andrea exhaled a cloud. “Anyway. I don’t think the health defects apply to our kind.”

“You are a smart boy. Besides,” Min shrugged, “if I gave up one vice, I would only pick up another, such as alcohol.”

Using Min’s thermos that always smelled strongly of clear liquor at meetings, Andrea probably could have contested that claim. He decided it was best not to.

“You can always make up for it with your lifestyle,” Andrea suggested instead as they continued to stroll on the beach.

“Oh, I attempt to, but you Mediterraneans have already mastered that art.” Taking another drag, Min sighed. “Why do you think I came to Baiae so often?”

The Italian blinked. They had been beating around the bush for so long, he had forgotten why they were here in the first place. “I’m… not sure. What’s so special about Baiae?”

“Well, your father was here,” Min said as he began to slow in the sand. “His villa was here. I have a country house outside of Luoyang, but it is not safe from the cold. I also never had an intense summer fling with a Mediterranean man there.”

That’s what Min thought was still here, Andrea realized, his heart stopping. His Roman childhood was not something Andrea put much thought into. His father’s country villa had entirely escaped him until now.

He did not invite the memories back, but they flowed unabated. Although they were less numerous than memories of Rome, memories of Baiae bursted with color and variety. The sun, the sea, and the stars all shone in one place and time. He stayed inside to marvel at his father’s collection of art and vases, or he ran outside to appreciate his father’s vast vineyards and fields.

To avoid a catharsis, Andrea just raised an eyebrow. “You loved my father for his weather?”

He had not meant to use such a strong word, but it was the only word that felt right.

“Very funny, boy! That was only a bonus of seeing him again.” Min poked Andrea in the shoulder. “Yes, I mostly visited during the summers, but I would also come during the winters if Romulus wanted. Once, we even celebrated Saturnalia together.”

As the holiday was not very kid-friendly, Romulus made it all about his boys, once he had them. They stayed inside and played games together, ignoring the drunken revelry outside. Andrea tried not to think of how Min and his father celebrated.

“I don’t remember you at the villa, though. Not that I went a lot,” Andrea also realized.

“It was before your time,” Min confirmed. “Soon after you were born, the Crisis occurred, among other things. If Romulus was unwilling to place even me among the dangers that Roman roads had devolved into, he would never do it to his own children.”

The Italian’s mouth fell open. “He always just said he was too busy.”

“Well, what kind of father tells his children they are in danger, instead of carrying the burden on his own shoulders?” Min chuckled. “Certainly not a Roman father. However, the city of Rome was not much safer by that point.”

“I do remember you in Rome. You had to… babysit. Sorry.” Andrea cleared his throat.

Min’s lips curled into a soft smile around his cigarette. “Oh no, I enjoyed it. Both of your personalities were already so distinct.” He exhaled smoke. “You took to your lessons so well. I hope that aspect of you never changed.”

Queuing up a reply, Andrea was instead interrupted by the timely sight of driftwood. Min’s first Chinese lesson blazed into Andrea’s mind like an impulse.

He picked up the stick and began to write in the damp sand.

Min watched with glassy eyes blown wide. “You still remember when I taught you how to write your name in my language? That was thousands of years ago.”

“I remember you helping me write a thank-you note in Chinese for my father, too,” Andrea continued, surprisingly eager to please. “Maybe it’s all coming back now that you’re here again.” Since Min was here, Baiae didn’t feel like his own city anymore. He wanted to gift it to Min for ever underestimating its importance. Even now, Andrea only talked of Rome. He didn’t know what the pair got up to in Romulus’ villa, but he didn’t think he needed to.

Their love had been consummated here. 

“Yes, he read it once he got home, I made sure of that.” Min stopped in front of the Chinese characters in the earth. His voice was as fragile as sea glass. “Oh, it was always lovely when he returned home from a day’s work and saw us together. I watched his face light up each time—could’ve written all the poetry in the world about it, not that it would ever be enough.”

“I know,” Andrea sighed. “I know.”

They stood straight, the crashing of the waves and an invisible wall of memories between them.

Suddenly, Min mumbled, “It was probably the closest I will ever come to having a family.”

“Why?” Andrea squinted into the sun, which suddenly burned as hot as Hell. “Don’t you have chi…?”

Min turned to him and exhaled smoke. “Do I?”

Under his gaze, Andrea crumbled as soft as the sand.

“You can love an idealized version of your father because he is dead,” Min said simply. “My children can hate me because, in being alive, I can have flaws. I envy him in that way.”

Tentatively, Andrea mumbled without looking Min in the eyes. “You can’t be exempt from that.”

“...No,” Min sighed with the weight of the world. “I do not remember his shortcomings, either. Except for the fact that he was actually short.”

It was a joke, but neither man moved.

Since it was Min’s folly, he spoke first. “I am always looking for a piece of him in my other relationships.” 

“...Well, I’m looking for him in myself,” Andrea conceded.

“Hm?” Glancing at the Italian, Min furrowed his brows. “You don’t have to look very far.”

Andrea nearly choked on his cigarette. His shoulders tensed. “What do you mean, old man?”

“Why do you think I have avoided you for those thousands of years?” Min asked incredulously. “I was not strong enough.”

The other had no answer. Or rather, he had the answer, but he was unwilling to give it.

“It would serve you well to inherit even more of your father’s intelligence, too,” Min chided. He pointed at the ocean. “Go look.”

Each step took considerable effort; each footfall on the sand deafened his ears. Southern waters were always clear enough to be used as a mirror, but the surface had to still, too. Today, the waves cut Andrea’s reflection into tiny pieces. Revealed to him were glimpses of an aquiline nose, a jaw with fresh stubble, and mocha curls.

It was ambiguous enough to be either of them.

Forgetting his expensive silk pants, Andrea plopped down at the water’s edge and stared.

Min quickly followed. The wind blew all of Min’s hair in Andrea’s direction, so Andrea couldn’t ignore the other, even if he wanted to. Min murmured, “Do you understand who I see first out of the corner of my eye?”

“...Have you?” Andrea deflected before he lost the confidence. “Had to look very far?”

“Oh, he world will always have an abundant supply of miracle upstarts,” Min huffed. “Not so much of a miracle anymore. They have fallen and died, fallen and survived, or they will fall… soon. How the world decides their time is my only question. I would like to have a word with the gods or their governments, personally.”

Andrea could picture them all—at least the ones he knew about. Rumors always flew about their careful dance with the Mongols, whether it was still happening or not, and whatever smart move the Americans thought they were making now.

At least Min was not suffering by missing out on any potential fun. Andrea did not want him to suffer at all. On that note, Andrea asked, “Do you think your time is coming soon?”

“...No,” Min said simply. “I don’t think my time will ever come at all.”

His voice held no arrogance, Andrea noted; instead, it was just a fact of the Chinese condition. A lament, even.

Andrea sighed, deep enough to throw the burden of immortality off of two men for just a second. “That’s a good thing.”

“Is it, now?” Min exhaled smoke.

“Yes.” Andrea stood. He absorbed the very views he had forgotten, the shores of his father’s villa. “Yes, it is. We’ve been avoiding each other for far too long.” Not even the waves could wash away the Chinese Andrea had written. He pointed at the characters in the sand with fervor. “I can remember these strokes better than I can remember my own father’s face. There’s much I still have to learn from you.”

The Italian held his other hand out. Taking it, Min smiled. “There is much I have to teach.”


End file.
